


Gym Rats

by epeolatry



Series: Halcyon Days [4]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Blow Jobs, Breathplay, Gym Sex, Hand Jobs, M/M, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-21
Updated: 2013-11-21
Packaged: 2018-01-02 07:15:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1053999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epeolatry/pseuds/epeolatry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For once Bahorel is hungover and Grantaire is sober for their weekly sparring session. Bahorel doesn't like being put on his arse so he decides to take his frustrations out on Grantaire in a different way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gym Rats

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lynchy8](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lynchy8/gifts).



"You fucking little shit!"

 

Bahorel was on his arse for the third time that session, a bruise already blossoming high on one cheekbone and an angry thudding in his head. Grantaire was a talented martial artist even when he was drunk, but this morning he was stone cold sober and Bahorel was the one nursing a hangover in the gym.

 

The artist grinned smugly down at his friend, "Best four out of five?"

 

"Fuck you," Bahorel spat, hauling himself sulkily to his feet.

 

"Yeah I'd love to mate but I don't think you're in great shape for a workout like that right now," Grantaire smirked offhandedly, grabbing a cigarette from Bahorel's gym bag and popping it between his lips.

 

Bahorel moved faster than he had all morning, and suddenly his huge hand was clamped around Grantaire's throat. Not hard enough to cut off his air but hard enough to be a warning; it sufficed to make the artist's eyes widen in surprise and the unlit cigarette drop from his lips. Bahorel liked it when Grantaire got cheeky, and Grantaire liked it when Bahorel got rough. A moment of tense silence passed, bloodshot brown eyes locked onto clear grey ones, until Bahorel growled, "Locker room. Now."

 

Grantaire swallowed pointedly, his adam's apple bobbing against Bahorel's palm, and the larger man relaxed his grip a little, allowing the artist to rasp out, "And if I don't?"

 

"You've got two choices," Bahorel purred dangerously, his lips barely an inch from Grantaire's, "You either run along to the locker room like a good boy, or you get on your knees right here."

 

Grantaire's eyes darted from side to side; they were alone in the training room, for now. It was a Saturday morning and they'd arrived earlier than most would on the weekend, but soon the other gym rats would start to filter in… Even the locker room was risky enough, let alone out here in the open. Grantaire shrugged his shoulders in mute acquiesce and Bahorel grinned wolfishly, leaning down to lick a long stripe up the side of Grantaire's cheek before releasing his throat.

 

Grantaire grumbled quietly about dirty whiskey breath but grabbed his bag and headed for the locker room, followed by Bahorel, who was still grinning despite the ache in his bruised arse and the discoloration on his cheek.

 

As soon as they entered the locker room Bahorel hustled Grantaire into a shower cubicle and locked the door behind them. The artist laughed in the cramped space, "A quickie in the public toilets, really? That's-" Bahorel cut him off with a hungry kiss, sucking Grantaire's lower lip harshly into his mouth as his hand went straight to the front of the other man's trousers, palming him roughly until he could feel him getting hard. Grantaire moaned into the kiss, allowing Bahorel to manhandle him however he liked, his body plaint and responsive under the demanding touches of his friend.

 

Bahorel was already shirtless, and he yanked Grantaire's vest over his head impatiently, scratching blunt nails down Grantaire's sweaty back and making the smaller man keen quietly.

 

"Knees," Bahorel commanded lowly, half expecting Grantaire to talk back, but the artist hit the tiled floor quite willingly, grabbing Bahorel through the soft material of his sweat pants and feeling how hard he was already. It was Bahorel's turn to moan as Grantaire jerked him for a moment before pulling down his pants and trousers with ease and licking his cock slowly from base to tip.

 

"Fuck. More, c'mon you little shit!" 

 

Grantaire grinned lazily, his eyes hazy with lust, before taking the head into his mouth and beginning to suck until most of Bahorel's length was engulfed in wet heat. Bahorel knew he wouldn't win any prizes in a long dick contest but he was thicker than average, and he loved watching Grantaire hollow his cheeks around him, pumping the length that didn't fit in his mouth with a bruised fist. He also loved how good Grantaire was with his hands - the bastard was truly ambidextrous, rolling Bahorel's balls gently in one hand and using the other to jerk him off as he continued to suck and tongue at the head.

 

"Fuck..." Bahorel exhaled shakily, trying to find the words to warn Grantaire but giving up; they'd done this often enough that he knew Grantaire would willingly – gratefully even, _fuck!_ \- swallow.

 

And he did.

 

Bahorel groaned long and low as he came, hips stuttering into Grantaire's mouth, the artist making no protestations but a gentle, encouraging hum. When he pulled away it was with a wicked smile, and he quickly leaned back in to clean Bahorel up with eager flicks of his tongue over the sensitive skin.

 

Bahorel sank to his knees and wordlessly fumbled his hand into Grantaire's tented sweat pants, jerking him off quickly and roughly, just how he liked it. It was only a moment or two before Grantaire keened quietly and Bahorel felt a wet spurt over his thick fingers. He smiled at that; Grantaire got off on giving head almost as much as most guys did receiving it.

 

They sat together in silence for a few minutes on the cold tile floor, both panting softly, until the creak of the locker room door opening snapped them both back to reality. Their eyes met and both instantly looked away to suppress their giggles, hurriedly pulling their clothing back on before stumbling out of the cubicle still looking thoroughly debauched and almost knocking over a middle aged man in his swim trunks.

 

"I'll see you next week then," said a disheveled looking Bahorel loudly, a barely suppressed snigger coloring his tone.

 

Grantaire turned to wink at the surprised gentleman, "He's an excellent personal trainer. Very hands on."


End file.
